


The Promissory Note

by LeCoeurCommeUnArtichaud



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Crimes & Criminals, DL;DR, Dark Harry, Dark Merlin, Extreme Underage, Forced Prostitution, Just Dark Everybody, M/M, Pedophilia, Prostitution, Shota, Violence typical of a R-rated Mobster Movie, gangster au, more tags to be added as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 12:48:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6470530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeCoeurCommeUnArtichaud/pseuds/LeCoeurCommeUnArtichaud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Baker finds himself with a debt he can't repay owed to one of the most dangerous men in London's criminal underground. He's hoping that his young stepson can at least buy him a little more time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the tags and the warnings. This is a work of fiction and contains taboo subjects presented in a positive and/or romanticized light. If the subject is not to your taste, please do not read. Don't bother to leave nasty comments, they will be deleted. Proceed at your own risk.

“Look Mr. Hart, I know I owes ya… an’ I’m a lit’le light in the packet again this week… but…” 

Harry Hart sat in the back corner of the curved booth in the rear of The Kingsman, one of London’s most popular nightclubs and the base of his growing criminal empire. His bodyguards, Lancelot and Percival were on either side of him at the entry to the banquette. His second in command, Merlin, stood behind the pitiful, sniveling excuse of a villain, one Mr. Dean Anthony Baker.

“So let me get this straight. Last month’s numbers from your crew were barely acceptable. Two weeks ago, you somehow managed to lose one quarter of your supply stock, to…” He looked at Merlin. “Muggers? Is that what we’re supposed to believe?”

“Muggers is what the man said,” Merlin answered.

“Right. One of your runners got mugged and had all of my goods taken from him. And then you proceeded to tell me that you were unable cover the loss from your own store of profits. I am expected to just…” Harry waved his hand. “Wait for my restitution until you…” He leaned forward, elbows on the table, and shrugged exaggeratedly.

“I can make it right Mr. Hart, I’m willin’…”

“Make it right by offering me a light packet this week? What happened? Another mugging?”

“No, no!” Dean was sweating like the proverbial pig he looked. “Weren’t nuthin’ like that. Everythin’ got delivered like usual. It’s jus’... there weren’t no extras. Nobody wanted nuthin’ but their min’mums, no new buyers neither. I got th’ extra goods ya give me right there in th’ bag with th’ receipts, nuthin’ missin’ at all.”

Harry looked again for confirmation to Merlin and received a curt nod.

“All right. I trust you’ll do better next week?”

“Yessir. I got a couple new places lined up…”

“Details I needn’t worry myself about, right? I’m sure you’ll handle everything. Only…” Harry shifted in his seat and drummed his fingers on the white table cloth. “We still have a matter of the ‘mugged’ goods from last time.” He looked straight at Baker. “Perhaps Lancelot here should give your nose a quick slice to see if we can find the missing product up there, hmm?”

“I don’ use. Ne’er have. Y’can ask anyone. Bes’ way t’ muck up business, far as I’ve e’er seen.”

Harry nods. Perhaps there was a tiny bit more to Mr. Baker than met the eye. “But the goods went somewhere. If not up your own nose, perhaps your missus?” The answer was plain as day on Dean’s face. He might not use, but his wife definitely did. “All right,” Harry said with a sigh and leaned back. “You have to understand, you’re not one of my better earners. Your crew doesn’t show the same steady growth that my other men manage. Even if you expanded your sales by twenty percent, with interest steadily accruing and ongoing expenses, I don’t see how you can feasibly make amends for your losses. I trust you understand that’s not something I can simply let slide.” The slight incline Harry gave his head towards Percival was almost imperceptible but the dour man sat just a little straighter and his hand dropped to his side beneath the table. “It’s just bad for business.”

“Wait! Wait! I got an offer, Mr. Hart. I ain’t got the money, no, but I got somethin’ else.” Dean’s smile was an oily leer. “Somethin’ ya might like bet’er.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Baker,” Harry said, blinking owlishly and glancing at his companions around the table. “I am _awfully_ fond of money.”

“Eggsy.”

“Pardon?”

“Eggsy. M’boy. Well, not mine, but me wife’s. I been workin’ him ‘bout a year now.”

“I see. So you’re offering me a one night stand with your disease ridden whore of a stepson, and in exchange, I’m supposed to overlook the fact that you owe me seven thousand pounds. Did I get that right? That’s your offer?”

“Well, e’ryone knows ya like th’ lit’le boys, Mr. Hart,” Dean said, shuffling his feet. “An’ he ain’t got no diseases. He’s clean.”

“Ah. Of course. I’m sure you’ve had him down to the NHS for his regular checkups. No questions why a young boy might need those _particular_ kinds of tests taken.” Harry rolled his eyes at the absurdity. This entire exchange was a waste of his time. Had he been less irritated by other matters, he would’ve let Percival and Lancelot deal with Baker when he first showed his ugly mug at Harry’s table. But Harry was enjoying making the man squirm. You could taste the fear rolling off him, and it was delicious.

“He ain’t sick, an’ he’s always got plen’y customers think he’s pret’y or wha’e’er. When his mum’s outta sorts, I can tell ya, he’s got a right talented lit’le mouf on him. Sucks like a Hoover,” Dean said, laughing too loudly at his bad joke.

“Really, is that so?” Harry said, drawing his words out lazily, imagining with every syllable the myriad ways he’d like to personally dismember the grotesque, red-faced buffoon in front of his table.

“Yep. I brung him wif me. He’s righ’ outside, pretendin’ t’ be waitin’ at th’ bus stop.”

“Merlin?”

“I’ll go get the lad.” Merlin gave a long-suffering sigh. Harry was a bored cat, Baker was his mouse, and Merlin was tired of the whole game. Let Percival work him over, let Lancelot have his fun with the man, but get on with the day's business, could we please?

“Now Mr. Baker, if your boy intrigues me — _if_ — then his service does not forgive your debt. He simply buys you a little time for as long as he entertains me. Nothing more. I shall require payment in full, with interest, as you promised. And the regular expected increase in your weekly packets. Your excuses bore me. If you and your crew aren’t up to the task of running your estate, I shall look to employ another contractor. Do I make myself…”

The door to the club opened and walking just ahead of Merlin was a slender boy, about ten years old. The light from the old fixtures caught in his dirty blond hair and sparked it through with fine gold strands. He turned his head up to look at Merlin, his mouth moving with some question or another.

“…Clear?” Harry finished absently. He couldn’t stop staring at the boy’s shiny pink lips.

“O’course Mr. Hart. Not a problem. Thank you.” 

“Percival? Show Mr. Baker out. Merlin? How many more today?”

Merlin returned to Harry’s table, noticing that as he got closer, the boy fell back, hiding behind him, reluctant to go forward and be near his guardian/pimp. With a scowl, Merlin put himself between the two and dropped a protective hand to the boy’s shoulder, giving him what he hoped was a reassuring pat.

“Two more that absolutely can’t be put off. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Percival slid out of the booth and stood behind Dean. Baker might be escaping with his life because of Harry’s predilection for pretty young things, but he was at the very least owed a bit of a tune up to drive home the points his boss had made. He slipped his hands into a fine pair of black leather gloves as he walked the man out the back door of the nightclub.


	2. Chapter 2

A tall, bald man came to stand next to him at the bus stop. Eggsy tried to fade back against the shelter and not be noticed, but the man bent down in front of him.

“Mr. Hart would like to meet you, lad.”

Eggsy swallowed and nodded. He let himself be led into the nightclub on the corner. Dean had told him about Mr. Hart. He was Dean’s boss. A very special client that if Eggsy didn’t manage to please, it’d be worth his hide when they got home. He had a few other choice words to say about the man, but as far as Eggsy could see it, he didn’t sound any worse than any of the other bastards Dean sold him to. They were all only looking for one thing and the details didn’t mean anything to the boy. 

Months ago Dean had made it perfectly clear that this was Eggsy’s lot in life now. Either he worked the street corner or his mum did. That was all it took to get Eggsy out there the first time. Then a few weeks after he’d agreed, his mum wound up on a different street corner anyway. By then Eggsy was already a whore, wasn’t he? What difference did it make? Dean just sent Rottweiler along with him to Smith Street to make sure he did what he was supposed to. Rottie made it clear that Eggsy was gonna get fucked either way, and at least most of the men in cars who picked him up were a lot nicer about it than Dean’s dogs had been.

“Is Mr. Hart gonna let Dean be okay?” Eggsy asked the man as they went into the club. Not that he gave a damn about his stepfather. Eggsy wasn’t sure exactly what had happened, but last week Dean nearly beat his mum unconscious and ranted on and on about how she’d gone and got him in the shit with Mr. Hart and if anyone was gonna get offed by the poncy bastard, it was gonna be her not him. The bald man didn’t answer, but still, Eggsy preferred the unknown quantity of him to the very well known quantity of Dean’s fists. He fell back, trying to make himself smaller and hide behind him. The man, Merlin according to the toff behind the table, put himself between Eggsy and Dean and dropped a hand to his shoulder. 

Eggsy stood quietly and looked down at his shoe-tops as the men talked business. He knew he should probably be more frightened of anyone who could make Dean sound like he was about to shit himself, but he couldn’t help smirking as he saw the dark man come out from behind the booth to take Dean outside to, if judging from the gloves he put on, give him a solid beating. He was lost in thinking about Dean’s face looking like the three-day-old hamburger meat his mum’s did last week, that his did a few weeks before that, and the thought warmed his empty belly.

“Is there something wrong with your hearing, boy? Mr. Hart asked you a question.”

“Give the lad a minute, Merlin, for Christ’s sake. Let him enjoy his thoughts. You’re right, you know,” the man in the back said, looking at Eggsy. “My friend Percival is going to make certain your stepfather regrets having crossed me. That is what you were smiling about, isn’t it?”

“I weren’t…”

Mr. Hart laughed. “It’s all right, Eggsy. Nothing wrong with enjoying a little well-earned revenge. Come sit down.” He patted the booth where the dark man, Percival, had been sitting. “Now, I have a little more business to attend before we can get acquainted, but I’m sure you’re a good boy and can sit here quietly. Perhaps even learn a thing or two, eh?”

“Yes sir, Mr. Hart.” Eggsy sat and folded his hands in his lap. 

Merlin went to the bar and returned with a much older man who made a brief accounting to Mr. Hart of his activities running book. After he left, Hart turned to Eggsy. “There was no reason for me to meet personally with that man to take his receipts. None at all, save that he has been with me since the beginning, and has been a guest at Her Majesty’s pleasure twice on my behalf. Loyalty deserves respect, Eggsy. Five minutes of my time is well worth his remembering that I value all he’s done for me.”

The next man Merlin brought was another drug dealer, like Dean, but much more successful. Eggsy listened to him telling Mr. Hart about his need for increased supply and to hire additional runners, expanding possibly into territory claimed by a rival crew and the potential that had for violence.

“Cost of doing business, I’m afraid,” Hart said. “So long as we come out with the upper hand and it doesn’t expand past your ability to control. I’m not looking for an all out city-wide war quite yet, but every little bit we can nibble away at Valentine’s territory without rousing the bear, I think we should take the opportunity.” He dismissed the dealer and waited until he’d left before speaking again. “We still have to pin down the shipment of weapons coming across the channel.”

“That’s nearly done. Stockpiles are growing acceptably, plus there are the special items my division’s been working on. This time next year, Valentine should be limited to south of the river and east of Brixton. Although predictive models anticipate a hard push back when we move the last of his crews entirely out of Camden. It was his original home base when he came over from America as a lad. Even if he doesn’t see much income from it anymore, he’s not going to give it up without a fight.”

“Baker’s region,” Hart said with a scowl. “Could be difficult.” He smiled and patted Eggsy on his knee. “But then I doubt little Eggsy here would greatly mind his stepfather becoming a casualty of war, am I right lad?”

Eggsy wasn’t sure why Mr. Hart was explaining his business to him. Or even why he was bothering to acknowledge him at all. He was used to sitting quietly and doing his best to be ignored while Dean and his gang talked about running drugs and beating people up for money. He’d only keep out half an ear in case something that pertained to him came up. He learned early on to be wary of any surprises Dean might have in store and to keep an eye on the temperature of the room for any unaccounted for anger or frustration that might come rolling downhill his way.

The meeting was over and Merlin went out into the bar to talk to the men who were left sitting there. The man in the outrageous plaid suit led the way to the back entrance, meeting Percival coming back in, peeling off his gloves which glistened, presumably with Dean’s blood, in the dim light. Mr. Hart left the pair of bodyguards at the foot of stairs to the apartments above the nightclub, and Eggsy followed him up.

“Bathroom’s through that hall,” Hart said, shutting and locking the apartment door. “Go get yourself cleaned up, then meet me in the salon. No clothes, if you please.”

“Yes sir.” He’d just taken a shower that morning, but some of these toffs were sticklers for cleanliness. Like they expected some lower class dirt to rub off on them and muck up their perfect world. Like they weren’t the only filth in the room, given what they were about to do to him. Nevertheless, Eggsy did as he was told, poking about in Mr. Hart’s bathroom cupboards for soap and a washcloth, scrubbing a bit of toothpaste on his finger in his mouth. He was pleased to find a bottle of lube in the sink cabinet. He soaped and washed his arse, and then worked a little of the lube up into himself, just in case the ‘gentleman’ wanted to go in raw to make him scream with it. He wet his hands and ran his fingers up through his hair, giving it that messy just-been-fucked look that got him attention. He pinched his cheeks in the mirror reddening them and gave his lips a lick and a bite to plump them up. He never knew what to expect from a client, but he’d found that looking pretty sometimes helped. Sometimes it made it worse, but that was a risk no matter what he did.

“Oh my,” Mr. Hart said, turning when he heard the bathroom door open. “You are a beautiful little thing, aren’t you? Come sit on our lap.”

Eggsy played coy, smiling and looking down as he walked over to the chair and climbed into Mr. Hart’s lap as requested. He gave his arse a little squirm, grinding against the man’s crotch as he settled. “Whatcha wanna do to me, Daddy?”

“Harry will do just fine for now,” he chuckled. “Must save some things to enjoy later. So, Eggsy, tell me. Do you know why you’re here?”

Eggsy ran his hand down the front of Harry’s suit, down to his belt, teased at it and then went lower, pressing against the man’s bulge. “So’s I can make you feel all good,” he said with a little squeeze. 

“Well, yes. Eventually we’ll get to that. But first I want you to understand something. Your father…”

“He ain’t my father!”

“ _Step_ father. He owes me money. Quite a lot of money. Much more than even your pretty little arse is worth.” Harry cocked his head to the side and looked at the boy. “How long have you been working for him?”

“‘Bout a year, I guess.”

“On Smith Street, not out of a house or on out-call?” 

“Yeah.” Eggsy couldn’t figure out why Harry was doing all this talking. The man’s hands were wandering lightly across his bare chest, so it was clear that he was interested in something more than just talk.

“And how much does Mr. Baker charge for your services?”

Eggsy sighed. He’d had ones like this before. Guys who got off on just the fact that he was a prostitute. “Twen’y for a blow, fif’y for me arse,” he said tiredly.

Harry shook his head. “So what you’re telling me is that your stepfather is as inept a whore-monger as he is a drug dealer.” Eggsy looked confused. “Sweet thing, at your age you should be getting twenty to just sit there with a smile and let the man do himself, fifty if you lend a helping hand, no less than a hundred for that pretty little mouth of yours and your ass? With a condom, at least three, and a thousand for barebacking minimum. How many tricks on a good night?”

“Two, three maybe on a Sa’urday? I dunno. One time it was six, but them was all blowies and Dean kept sendin’ me back out till I’d brought him home a hunnert pounds.”

“Pathetic. You’re wasted with him. No wonder he can’t repay me.”

“He works me mum too, though. He’s always got money.”

“He does?” Harry crooked his eyebrow but then turned back to the matter at hand, and that hand was still occupied distractedly caressing Eggsy’s naked body. “Certainly not from her. I know she’s your mum, but honestly a broken-down alcoholic crack addict like her isn’t worth tuppence a toss. You’re the only treasure that he owns and he’s too blind to see it.”

“He don’ own me.”

Harry chuckled. “No, darling, he doesn’t.” He reached under Eggsy’s chin, tipping his face up. “Not anymore.”

“Oh.”

“You’re a bright lad. You catch on quick. If you think I’m sending you back to him, you’re wrong. First there’s the matter of his debt. With proper management, you’ll have that paid off for him in a week or two, three at the most. After that though, you belong to me.”

“I’ll be workin’ for you i’stead?”

“Perhaps. When it amuses me to rent you out or if I have a guest who needs to be entertained. But no, that wasn’t what I meant.”

“Oh.”

“I hope you’ll find it a more satisfying arrangement than you had before. Our time together needn’t be unpleasant.”

“‘Course not, Harry.” Eggsy pasted on his best smile. “You’s right handsome an’ all.”

“That will do at first, but I’ll have you know my tolerance for little whore games becomes thin pretty quick.”

Eggsy startled as the doorbell rang.

“Up.” Harry patted Eggsy’s bottom as the boy clambered out of his lap. “That’ll be your new manager.”

“You’re not gonna…?”

“Not until the debt is paid. I don’t mix business and pleasure. I can’t have Dean thinking he’s gotten one over on me because he dangled a pretty piece of arse in front of my nose.”

“M’ clothes?” Eggsy nodded toward the bathroom.

“You won’t be needing them.” Harry opened the door. “Morgana. Lovely to see you.” He air-kissed the cheek of a tall, thin dark skinned man in full drag. 

“Galahad. Too long, my darling.” Morgana’s voice was a high falsetto with a vaguely Caribbean accent that immediately identified him as being a Londoner born, bred, and faking it. He looked over Harry’s shoulder. “I’d offer you the compliments of my house, but I see you’re already well attended.”

“Not quite yet. There’s some outstanding business with the lad first. Eggsy?” Harry held his arm out, beckoning the boy near. “This is my friend Morgana. You’ll be working for her for a little while. Don’t worry, she takes very good care of her boys as long as they behave themselves. Which you will, right?”

“Yes Harry.”

He turned back to Morgana. “There’s a matter of ten thousand pounds owed by his former pimp. Of course that is to be met after you take your cut and expenses. Full medical workup on him, I doubt he’s seen a proper doctor since the one who spanked his bottom the day he was born. See he’s put on PrEP and do try to get him some decent clients. I’d like him back in one piece.”

“I’ll bet you would, you filthy old man,” Morgana teased. “No worries, darling. I remember just the way you like it.” She put her arm around Eggsy and started to lead him to the door.

“Harry?” Eggsy looked over his shoulder, suddenly afraid.

“Shh.” Harry crouched down in front of Eggsy, putting his finger on the boy’s lips. “Be good and you’ll do fine. Don’t, well, while you are exceptionally pretty and I’d _like_ you back in one piece, I shan’t lose any sleep if I don’t see you again. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good boy.”

Morgana led Eggsy back down the stairs and walked him naked through the club. He tried to curl in on himself and cover what he could, only to have Morgana yank hard on his shoulder, pulling him upright. One of the men leaning on the bar whistled and Eggsy reddened.

“Give the lad a day to adjust, you animals,” Morgana laughed. “Then you can make a booking just like everyone else. No special discounts, either. And don’t forget, Roger, you’re still banned. Don’t even think about showing up for the fresh meat.”

As they approached the door, Eggsy really started to worry. Was he going to be taken outside? Naked? It seemed so. Fortunately there was a black cab parked right outside the door and Morgana ushered him into it as if she were taking him for an ordinary drive, not hauling his naked arse off to her brothel. 

“Our dear Harry’s quite taken with you.”

“Didn’ look that way to me,” Eggsy said sullenly.

“Sweetheart, when you’ve known that man as long as I have, you’ll see. That was practically hearts and flowers for him.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Yeah well nuthin’. Don’t you turn your back on that. He’s a good man.”

“Who likes t’ fuck lit’le boys.”

Morgana shrugged. “Everyone’s got something. Smart little boys know how to turn that to their advantage. Harry thinks you're smart or he wouldn’t bother with you. Pretty things in his world are a dime a dozen. But the man can size someone up just to look at ‘em. He sees something in you. Don’t let him down.”

Eggsy rolled his eyes and stared out the cab window.

**Author's Note:**

> There will be more coming, I'm _so_ not done with the muse for this story. But I'm not even going to pretend that I can write to a schedule. It never works that way for me, sorry. Subscribing is the best way to get chapter updates. Or you can find me at my [tumblr](http://le-coeur-comme-un-artichaud.tumblr.com) and keep up with what's currently grabbed hold of my writing inspiration. Fair warning though, only shota and darkness live there.


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